


for you, the stars

by andthentheybow



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gallows Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Team as Family, from several hundred miles away, no beta we die like stupid block men, no knowledge of the martian really needed to read this, the martian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthentheybow/pseuds/andthentheybow
Summary: There is exactly one person in the entire universe that knows Doctor George Davidson is alive, and that’s George himself. Even with everything against him- starvation, damaged machinery, the environment, and human error- he’s determined to not become the first person to die on Mars. And once they find out he’s alive, his crew resolves to do everything they can to bring him home.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy/Niki | Nihachu, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 114
Kudos: 180





	1. Ares

**Author's Note:**

> don't be creepy about content creators, these are my interpretations of their personas, if they're uncomfortable this will be deleted, etc etc
> 
> twitter really pulled through for me on this one. this is dedicated to ali alienu thank you for filling me with outer space brainrot

It takes six days for everything to go wrong.

The mission known as Ares III starts out perfectly normal. They have their crew- led by Commander Technoblade (first name redacted), they’re practically unstoppable. They spent months training for this, getting to know each other; they spent even longer on the spaceship  _ Hermes _ travelling to their destination. They have complete faith in their flight coordinators on the ground, and they have complete faith in each other.

Faith isn’t enough to stop a storm, especially on a desolate planet.

Their surface habitat- the Hab- isn’t enough to withstand a dust storm, and they know it isn’t. Not to mention the fact that the MAV- their only way off the planet- is on the verge of toppling. It’s Techno who makes the decision to abandon the mission, and his crew follows him.

They don their suits and begin the dangerous trek to the MAV. The wind is positively screaming; they can barely hear each other over their comms. Major Nick Sapnap leads the hike; he’s their pilot, their second-in-command, and without him there’s no way they’re getting off the planet. He’s followed by Doctor Niki Nihachu, their surgeon, the only medical doctor in the crew. Right behind her is Captain Cara Puffy, systems operator, and Doctor Clay Bloque, nicknamed Dream, their navigator and chemist. After that is Doctor George Davidson, their botanist, and at the back of the pack is the Commander himself.

They’re all clinging to each other, the wind threatening to tear them apart. The MAV creaks restlessly, dangerously, tilting to one side. Sapnap is the first to reach it and pull the ladder down- he stops to make sure the rest of the crew is behind him before climbing aboard. He’s made it to his seat and Niki’s began her ascent when everything goes wrong.

A satellite comes flying out of nowhere. Dream ducks underneath it, pulling Puffy down with him. There’s a crackle of static, Puffy screaming over the comms, and then the resolute  _ thud _ of the metal hitting something else.

And then George goes flying.

He disappears into the dust storm before any of them can do so much as blink, torn away from the group. Dream is screaming, Techno is half turning around, ready to go back, and everyone is yelling at each other. Puffy manages to get ahold of Techno’s arm and pull him toward the MAV, shoving Dream up the ladder even as he resists and tries to get back into the storm. Everyone is screaming George’s name, but things happened so fast-

“Niki!” Techno yells. “Vitals!”

“I’m not getting a read,” Niki says breathlessly. “I’m-”

“No,” Dream says insistently. “No, no way-”

Puffy shoves Dream down into his seat.

“There’s still nothing,” Niki says, shaking her head. “I- I think-” She can’t even bring herself to say it. George is dead.

Techno is seated next to Sapnap, now, and they’re ready for takeoff. Everyone is still talking over each other. Sapnap turns to the Commander.

“We’re ready to go,” he says. “Commander.”

Techno is staring, like wishful thinking will bring George back. Slowly, he nods.

“ _ No _ -” Dream starts.

“Commander, I need verbal confirmation,” Sapnap says, looking terrified.

  
“Go,” Techno chokes out.

“ _ NO! _ ” Dream cries again. Sapnap hits the button, and the MAV shoots off into the sky.

  
  
  
  


George wakes up with his entire body on fire and an incessant beeping in his ears.

The events of the previous… whatever, day, night, he doesn’t know, come back to him slowly, then all at once. Holy shit. Holy shit-

He sits up and his torso screams in pain. He looks down and oh, that’s a piece of metal embedded in his stomach, tearing through his suit. The MAV is gone. The Hab is, somehow, still standing.

“Oxygen levels low,” the voice in his ear says. His head is fucking pounding. He pulls himself up, using some of the debris around him as leverage, and manages to stumble his way over to the Hab. He rips off his suit and oxygen has never tasted so good. He’s alive. He’s alive, and his situation is sinking in as he realizes oh, fuck, his crew is gone, they probably think he’s dead, and he’s stranded on Mars.

Huh. He did not expect this mission to go like this.

He’s fucked.

The first order of business: documenting the fact that he’s still alive. He has no idea how long he’ll last, but for now, he’s going to need some proof that he didn’t die in that storm. A video diary, then, because it’s a hell of a lot faster than writing and maybe someday, when they come looking for his body, his crew will be happy to hear his voice.

“I’m fucked,” is the first thing he says when he starts the recording. Then he glances down at the piece of metal still embedded in his stomach. “I should probably do something about that before I explain everything else, though, so. If you’re watching this, I’d probably look away right about now. I’m no medical doctor, so- Niki, don’t yell at me for how horrible this goes.”

He’s never performed surgery on anyone else before, let alone on himself. After the first scream, he decides to pause the recording while he stitches himself up. When he hits play again, he’s sitting in an oversized sweatshirt that may or may not belong to Dream and he looks a little less worse for wear.

“Okay,” he says, and he pulls the sweatshirt up to reveal the nice new line of stitches going diagonally across his stomach. “I lost, frankly, a lot of blood, but I’m alive. Surprise!”

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair.

“So. Sol 6. We got our shit rocked by a dust storm, I must’ve got hit by something, and the telemetry on my suit was totally fucked, meaning the crew likely thought I was dead on impact. Surprise, I’m not! I’m here and kicking, and not very pleased about the situation.

“Not at my crew- they did their best. I’m not very pleased with Mars. Which sucks, because I’m gonna be here probably for the rest of my life. Go me!”

He pauses. “That is kind of cool, though- I’m currently the only person on this entire planet. I’m currently the only  _ botanist _ on this entire planet, which means, logically, I’m the best botanist in the world. Suck it, Dream. He can’t say the same because even though he’s our chemist, I still don’t know how he got his degree. Not to mention the fact that Sapnap is probably a better navigator than him. So, I’m just sort of better by default.”

He runs a hand through his hair again. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just rambling. Dear diary, today I almost died and then got abandoned on a hostile planet.”

He stops.

“Fuck. I need to figure out how I’m going to survive.”

He pauses the recording again.  _ Okay, George, you can do this, _ he thinks. He has to do it. For his crew, if not for anyone else. He is not going to be the first person to die on Mars. He is  _ not _ going to be the first person to die on Mars.

There’s enough food for six people for fifty days. That’s three hundred days of food, which he can easily stretch out by just eating less. There, one problem solved. There are plenty of EVA suits for when he inevitably needs to leave the Hab and go out on the planet. Okay, fine. Water- water is going to be a more difficult problem to solve, but it’ll be okay. It’ll be fine. Communications-

He checks everything. It’s all down. There’s literally no way to get in contact with Earth, no way to get in contact with the  _ Hermes, _ no way for anyone to know that he’s still alive and kicking.

Well. Fuck.

  
  


“Sol 7!” George announces to his new best friend, his video diary. He’s still wearing Dream’s sweatshirt. There’s a bit of a manic look in his eyes. “Guess what? I’m literally a botanist, and we have a shit ton of potatoes here! Commander, I take back everything I’ve ever said about you and your potatoes, because these babies are going to save my fucking life. I’m going to figure out how to farm on Mars. I’m going to fucking colonize Mars!”

  
  


“Sol 8. This is going to be harder than I thought.”

  
  


“Sol 10. I need to figure out how to get the damn radio working. I need to figure out a way to tell everyone I’m still alive. My whole life literally relies on it. Listen- Ares IV touches down thirty-two hundred kilometers away, four years from now. If I can get myself over there by that time, they’ll be able to pick me up and rescue me. So I just need to survive until then.

“The oxygenator is fine, so I’m not going to suffocate. The water reclaimer is fine, so I won’t die of thirst. I think- and thank you, Dream, for saving my life here- I think I figured out a way to manufacture water from leftover rocket fuel. I take back everything I’ve ever said about you being a horrible chemist. So I won’t starve to death. My only issue is that I can’t fucking communicate with Earth, and I’d really like to be able to do that.”

  
  


“Sol 26. A very productive day, if I do say so myself. I’ve got a shit ton of soil in the Hab so I can grow my damn potatoes. Mars is a lot nicer when it’s not trying to kill you, I think. I’ve also started modifying our rover so it’s able to get me over to the Ares IV landing site.

“And… I miss my crew. Jesus, I miss them so much. I miss Sapnap’s stupid jokes, I miss Puffy and Niki’s mothering and horrible flirting, I miss Techno’s death stares, I miss Dream’s… I miss Dream. I miss them so fucking much, and I can’t even imagine what they’re going through, thinking they left me for dead here. I can practically imagine them losing it when they find out I made it twenty sols past what they thought. At least. I’m planning on making it a lot longer.”

  
“Sol 27. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last. Pigstep, Techno, really? The only music you brought was Pigstep? If I have to listen to this song one more time-”

  
  


Pigstep plays in the background. George sighs and looks at all he’s done. In a few short weeks, he’s gone from the brink of death to mostly self-sufficient. He did blow himself up once trying to convert the rocket fuel into water, but that one really wasn’t his fault. He blames Dream and his stupid chemistry equations.

Jesus. Dream. He misses Dream. He knows that they had their little game for such a long time, dancing around each other, pretending they weren’t hopelessly in love, because two crew members together could endanger the mission. That’s why Niki and Puffy were never explicit. They all just suffered through listening to Sapnap talk about his boyfriend-turned-husband, while Puffy and Niki cast looks at each other and Dream bumped his shoulder against George’s.

He takes a few deep breaths in, then out. He needs to keep himself calm. He’s had enough panic over the past few weeks, always when the cameras are off, because he’s not going to let his crew see him cry. Hell, he’s not going to let the rest of the world see him cry, because God knows how many people NASA’s going to release his video logs to when they eventually find them.

Unless they just cover it up. He wouldn’t put it past them to do that, either.

He wonders how Bad is handling it, the  _ Hermes _ flight director, one of his best friends. Probably not well. Fundy’s probably having a field day with the media. Wilbur’s probably fending off how many reporters trying to cancel any other Ares missions.

No. Ares IV is going to land, and they’re going to pick George up, and he’ll be reunited with his crew back on Earth. Everything is going to be fine.

That’s what he keeps telling himself. This is fine. He’s going to be fine. He’s going to make it.

He doesn’t have any other choice.


	2. Hermes

The ship is quiet.

It’s been three weeks since they left Mars, three weeks since George’s death. Dream doesn’t think he’s smiled once in all that time. To be fair, he hasn’t really interacted with anyone, either- his sister would call him melodramatic, but he thinks it’s warranted. It’s not like he’s a grieving widower, but he certainly feels the part.

They all mourn in different ways. Puffy does the same maintenance checks over and over again. Sapnap spends all of his free hours in the gym, usually with the punching bag. Techno is even more somber than usual, a desolate figure floating through the halls. Niki is ignoring her own feelings by attempting to get them all to take care of themselves. Dream knows they’re all just attempting to distract themselves, except maybe for Techno- he knows Techno feels the brunt of the loss, because as the mission commander, he feels like he’s responsible.

He’s not. Mars is responsible. God, Dream fucking hates that little red planet. He hates the mission and NASA and outer space and himself and the whole crew, only because none of them could do anything when it came down to it. None of them could stop that satellite from flying, none of them could stop the dust storm, none of them could do anything but watch as the MAV left Mars’s atmosphere.

Dream himself has spent all his time locked in his room. Occasionally, someone will knock on the door in an attempt to get him out, but he feels like he can’t even function. It’s on the dawn of the fourth week that Techno is finally the one to pound on the door.

“You’re our navigator,” the Commander’s gruff voice says. “So come navigate.” He opens the door, and Techno is already floating down the hallway. Dream gives a feeble attempt to straighten himself up before floating after him.

They’re all waiting for him in the navigation room, which he doesn’t really think is necessary, but he appreciates the way Puffy pulls him into a hug nonetheless. Dream’s known her for a long enough time that he jokingly calls her ‘mom,’ a fact that’s only solidified by the way she squeezes him tightly and then presses their foreheads together. As she pulls back, Niki rests a hand on his arm.

“Have you been eating?” she asks. “Sapnap and I have been leaving food outside your door.” He grimaces, and she takes this as a no, which is the truthful answer. Grabbing Puffy’s hand, the two float out of the room, probably to go and get Dream some food. He appreciates them endlessly- all of them. They’re all in mourning, and they’re still finding time to take care of him.

Jesus, he needs to pull himself together. But that’s difficult to do when he witnessed the love of his life die.

Because yeah, he loves George ( _ loved, _ his brain tells him, and he pushes back the past-tense because he doubts even death could change how he feels). They were best friends and Dream was head over heels, and he thinks George was the same, even if neither of them were going to act on it. And if he had just reached out a little faster, held on a little tighter, maybe George would be on the  _ Hermes _ with them-

“Dream,” Techno says stiffly. “Get out of your head. That’s an order.”

Dream jerks up out of habit when he’s addressed and nods quickly. Techno raises one eyebrow.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Sapnap mutters, floating over so he can wrap an arm around Dream’s shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.” He turns to Techno with a harsh look. “And it wasn’t yours either, Commander, I could give you your own advice.”

Techno scoffs and mutters something about how Sapnap’s advice never turns out well before disappearing out of the room. Dream huffs as Sapnap forces him to take a seat, then sits next to him. He’s starting to see their elaborate ploy to get him to talk to Sapnap.

He and Sapnap are best friends, and have been ever since they were young. They said they were going to become astronauts together, go to the stars and beyond. It was pure luck that they were both chosen for the Ares III mission, but Dream wouldn’t change it for the world.

Except for right now, where he’s sort of wishing the mission had never happened. If Niki had stayed in Germany and Puffy had kept her place in mission control and Techno had remained on the International Space Station. Maybe he and Sapnap and George could have gone to the moon and then they’d all still be alive.

“Tell your brain to shut the hell up,” Sapnap snorts. When Dream looks closely, he can see that Sapnap’s eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a long time. “It happened, Dream. It’s over. I loved him too.”

“Not the same way,” Dream croaks out, and he can feel the tears welling in his eyes, as if he hasn’t cried enough already. Sapnap reaches out and Dream practically falls off of his chair and into his brother’s arms. “I just-”

“I know, Dream.”

“I hate it.”

“What?”

“Mars. Space. Everything.”

He’s loved space his whole life. He’s wanted to be an astronaut since he was a kid, for God’s sake, he worked his ass off to rise through the ranks at NASA to be invited into the Ares program. And now that he’s here- he never wants to see it again, never even wants to think about the galaxies and comets and stars that he’s always loved. Because what good were they when George died?

  
  
  
  


“Sol 37. The Hab is, technically speaking, a bomb. Seriously, one wrong move and the whole thing explodes. Kind of cool, right? All I have to do is play Pigstep one too many times and the radio overheats and bam, I’m dead. Just kidding, I don’t think that’s a thing that could happen. I dunno, Dream and Puffy and Sapnap are the ones that made the explosives during our test run. No matter who Wilbur blames, that one wasn’t on me.”

God, George thinks, those were the times. When the crew was trapped for a month in the little bubble, preparing for the mission, getting to know each other in an alien environment. And yeah, the explosion was a little bit his fault, but he wasn’t the one who made the explosives, so he stands by that it wasn’t on him.

The blame ended up being pinned on Wilbur, anyways. Big fancy Director of Mars Missions, he’s the one that took the blame. After him it would’ve fallen on Techno, and even though the Commander was always willing to step up and take responsibility, Wilbur saw how good the crew worked together and didn’t want to risk Techno being fired.

Those were the good days. Back when George didn’t need to worry about food and water and surviving on Mars. Alone. When everyone else thinks he’s dead.

The gash in his stomach has been aching. It’s probably time to take the stitches out, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to look at the wound yet. Niki would yell at him for not taking better care of himself- hell, they would all yell at him for not taking better care of himself- but he feels like he has bigger things to worry about than a little tear in his stomach.

“Anyways. The Hab is technically now a bomb. I am currently hiding in the rover while I come up with a plan, mostly because I don’t want to accidentally kill myself. My math was, to say the least, incorrect. Listen, I’m a botanist. And yes, technically speaking, I’m also an engineer, but I’m mainly a botanist. I don’t do the math stuff.

“‘Oh, but George,’ you say. ‘You have a degree in engineering. Surely you can do math.’ You need to keep in mind that I’m gay. I can’t do math.”

He pauses. Did he really just say that out loud? Sure, the crew knows- hell, two-thirds of them are queer- but it’s not like he’s gonna just announce that to the world when anyone could find these video diaries.

Alright, he thinks, logically, if someone were to find the videos, he’d probably be dead. So.

“I cannot believe this is how I’m coming out,” he announces. “Anyways. My math was wrong. Sucks to suck. I’m going to find a solution, and if I don’t, well, now you know that I died in a massive fucking explosion and not a dust storm. Now you’ve got something to blame when they don’t find my body.”

He takes a bite of food and chews noisily, mostly because he’s beyond caring at this point. He holds eye contact with the camera the whole time, just because it’s so funny, and God does he need a little bit of humor. When he’s done chewing, he swallows harshly, and the food gets stuck in his throat. He coughs, and then bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Maybe Mars won’t kill me,” he says. “Maybe it’ll just be me being stupid.” It’s fine. It’s whatever. He’ll be okay. He stares out the window at the Hab as he finishes his food, and then he turns back to the camera. “I’m gonna find a way to fix the Hab.”

  
  


“Sol 40. Fixed the Hab. I’m going to have a proper meal now and maybe try and listen to something that isn’t Pigstep. God, I fucking hate Pigstep. No offense, Techno, but seriously, your music taste is awful. It’s not like anyone else’s is much better- Sapnap and Dream know what I think of their music. Niki’s is pretty alright. If anyone is listening to this- stop listening to Pigstep. It’s not good. It’s almost as bad as disco. You hear me?”

  
  


“Sol 41. I ran diagnostics on all the systems again, and everything was good. Of course, I decided to not wear a suit, and my own dumbassery almost got me killed. Again. So, I guess I have to start making smarter decisions, because I don’t have the rest of the crew here to yell at me when I’m about to fuck things up.

“Anyways. I caused another explosion and then cleaned up my mess. Which is, like, totally fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m back in the Hab, no longer sleeping in the rover, which I see as a complete win. Absolutely nothing went wrong. Nope. Not at all.”

  
  


“Sol 42. Just doing some more post-explosion clean-up. I slept in today, which I think I deserve. Most of the outside of our station is cleaned up too, so who knows. Maybe things will start going my way. We can only hope.”

  
  
  
  


“Listen,” Phil Watson, the Director of NASA, says seriously to Wilbur Soot, Director of Mars Missions. “Davidson’s body is going to be completely visible in any images of the Ares III site.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Wilbur replies, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why you’ve been denying my requests for satellite imagery? Because you’re worried about seeing a dead body that we’ve known about for two months now?”

“I’m saying that these images are gonna be released to the public,” Phil corrects him. “And the media obsession with his death has just died down. We don’t need to go stirring up the public again. Not to mention the whole  _ Hermes _ crew is gonna be able to see those images, and you heard them give their public eulogies. I don’t think any of them can handle it.”

“So we don’t transmit them the images,” Wilbur offers. “Is that so hard? I want to see my mission site.”

“I know you do, Wil. But then they’ll see the images ten months from now when they get back.” 

“Phil, listen. I have sympathy for the Ares III crew. You  _ know _ I do. But I’m also a businessman, and there’s almost an entire mission’s worth of supplies up there. We already have plans for four and five. But if we say Ares 6’s partial purpose is recovering George’s body- well, we’ll get public sympathy. We’ll get approval. We won’t get that if we wait. The wounds are still fresh.”

Phil looks like he’s considering. Wilbur considers it a win- once Phil starts considering his ideas, the answer usually ends up being a yes. Perfect. Maybe he can go home early tonight.

“Fine,” Phil says. “You know what- take it to Tommy. Have him get you the images.”

Score.

It takes him maybe twenty minutes to get his younger brother on the phone, and when he finally does pick up, it sounds like he’s been sleeping. “A master’s degree and I’m working in an all-night photo booth,” Tommy complains immediately.

“This is a work call.”

“Fuck.”

“That means watch your language, Tommy. I’m authorizing satellite imagery of the Ares III site.”

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ You mean-”

“Yeah. You’re gonna see the body. Try not to throw up, or something. Call me if you need anything.”

He hangs up the phone and closes his office for the night, then walks to his car. God, he’s exhausted. It’s been a long, long two months since the disastrous end of the Ares III mission, and he’s already starting work on Ares V, which doesn’t even take off for another decade. He’s already drunk enough coffee today to last the entire week, so maybe he’ll have a nice tea when he gets home and try to relax.

Wilbur’s just started his car when his phone rings. Annoyed, he glances down and sees it’s from Tommy. Probably complaining about having to look at an impaled body. Wilbur presses the red button and puts the car in drive.

_ EMERGENCY _ is the text that comes through, from Tommy, of course. Wilbur sighs and calls him back.

“Tommy Innit,” he says. “This better be an actual emergency-”

“It is,” Tommy says, out of breath, and he sounds terrified. “Get in here. Now.”

  
  
  
  


Tommy Innit is a glorified camera operator. Sure, he loves his job, and he loves NASA, and he loves the fact that his whole family works here so he gets to talk to all of them regularly (excluding Techno, who is currently several million miles away). And he loves being able to look at pictures of space on the regular. What he does not love, however, is looking at images of the Ares III site and seeing several things that are not correct. And he does not love pulling up the Ares III mission logs and realizing that they are not correct for a reason.

“Okay,” Wilbur says, bursting into the room. “What’s the issue?”

Tommy starts pulling up images rapid-fire, pointing out things that are out of place. Wilbur has explanations for all of it, ranging from the Commander ordering it to the wind blowing it out of the way.

“Okay,” Tommy says slowly. “Except for the fact that I checked the mission logs. Like, four or five times. Maybe more. Techno didn’t report any of that, and you know how he is when it comes to documenting everything. He wouldn’t have forgotten stuff like that.”

“Wind?” Wilbur offers. He looks like he thinks he should have gone home. Tommy shakes his head. “What are you saying, Tommy?”

Wilbur knows what he’s saying. He just doesn’t want to be the one to say it.

  
“Did I mention that I can’t find his body? Like, anywhere?”

Wilbur and Tommy hold eye contact for approximately six seconds, and then Wilbur pulls out his phone.

“Phil? Yeah. You still here? You’re not gonna like this. No. Yeah. Get down to Tommy’s. Like, now.” Tommy spins in his chair a few times and starts laughing hysterically. It’s that or probably start crying. Jesus, he thinks, the press is going to have a field day.

Wilbur is evidently thinking the same thing. He dials the number for his (jokingly) adoptive son Fundy, the Director of Media Relations.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re going to hate this. George is alive.”

There’s ten seconds of silence, and then Tommy hears Fundy screaming through the other end of the phone. Tommy’s laughter doubles. God, this is so fucked up.

When Phil arrives and they explain the situation, he chucks the mug of coffee he’s holding across the room. Weakly, Tommy asks, “Are you going to clean that up?” Phil gets a murderous look on his face, and Tommy thinks if Phil hadn’t already thrown the mug, it would’ve been thrown at him.

Fundy gets there thirty minutes later, dressed in his pajamas, looking stressed beyond belief.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he cries. None of them even bother correcting him for his language in a professional setting. “No, no way- not that I’m not happy, but-”

“This is on you, bud,” Wilbur says, patting Fundy on the back. “Come up with a media statement.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Fundy replies snarkily.

“Come up with a media statement,” Phil repeats, and Fundy groans. Tommy tries not to laugh. He feels like he’s not even supposed to be here- even though they’re his family, they’re all important. He is, decidedly, not.

“Fine,” Fundy says. “Fine! I’ll alert the news, I’ll prepare the press statement. Goddamn it, why are you putting all the backlash on me? I fucking hate reporters!”

“You’re the director of media relations,” Tommy points out. “Why would you take the job if you didn’t like reporters?”

“Because it’s fucking NASA!” Fundy cries, and he storms out of the room. Wilbur and Phil are still for only a moment before darting after him, leaving Tommy with the images showing that George Davidson is not dead.

  
  


“Nice speech,” Wilbur snorts exactly twelve hours later. He’s sitting in Phil’s chair, feet on the desk. Phil and Fundy both look like they want to hit him. He doesn’t blame them. He knows he’s being purposefully antagonizing, but he deserves a little bit of joy. Bad, the  _ Hermes _ flight director, found out that George is alive when everyone else did, when the press conference premiered a few hours prior, and Wilbur’s not looking forward to having that conversation.

“Thanks,” Phil replies, equally as dryly. “Get out of my fucking seat.”

“Whatever you say,” Wilbur says, standing up. He ruffles Fundy’s hair, and Fundy elbows him in the stomach. “Good job, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Fundy replies. “My phone won’t stop buzzing.” He pulls it out and sets it on Phil’s desk, as if to prove his point.

“Put it on Do Not Disturb,” Phil suggests.

“It already is,” Fundy replies.

Wilbur can’t help but laugh. He thinks that he’s not going to sleep for a very, very long time. The concluding words of Phil’s speech echo in his mind.  _ “We’re not going to stop until George Davidson is home on Earth or confirmed dead on Mars.” _

And sure, Wilbur is a businessman, and he knows that getting George home will save NASA’s ass. But he’s also friends with George. He’s not going to rest until George is home, both for the sake of NASA and more so for the sake of the astronaut himself. He wonders what George is thinking.

  
  
  
  


“Sol 61. Why the fuck can Aquaman control whales? They’re mammals.”

  
  


“Sol 63. I’m not longer in danger of constantly blowing myself up. The Hab is no longer a bomb. Yippee! I have enough water to grow all of these goddamn potatoes- like, 600 litres. That’s a lot of fucking water. Of course, I’m going to need that much if I’m going to survive until Ares IV.

“Which means it’s time I start thinking long-term. And by thinking long-term, I mean finding a way to communicate to NASA that I’m alive. It’s been, like, two months by now, so hopefully they’ve got satellite images by now, and maybe they’ll realize that things are a little out of place. And yeah, there’s a chance they’ll just pin it all on the wind, or other storms, or Techno not recording things, but Bad and Wilbur know, they  _ know, _ that Techno logs everything, and he bullied us into logging everything.

“So. Here’s my thought. If I connect the two rovers, I’ll definitely be able to make it to the landing site for Ares IV. Perfect. But then it comes to the challenge of actually connecting the two rovers, which I don’t think we have an operating manual for. We have a manual for the rovers, I mean. We don’t have one for putting the two together. I’m an engineer, though. I’ll figure it out.”

  
“Sol 66. I decided to start going on missions. In the spirit of NASA, I decided to call my set of missions Asteria, after the goddess of the stars- mostly because I could never get Dream to shut up about the stars.

“Jesus. Dream. I miss Dream. If I do end up dying on one of these missions- Asteria 1 was aborted after about an hour- I should probably get some record of my life going. For the Wikipedia page, you know? I figure I’m pretty famous on Earth right about now. So. A bit about me.”   
  


There’s a very long pause.

“I realized I don’t actually know anything about myself that’s worth putting in a Wikipedia page, other than the fact that I might be the first person to die on Mars. I’ve got my two parents, who live in Brighton. Um. I’ve got a cat that I just call Cat. Dream thinks that’s a fucking stupid name, but he named a cat Patches and his name is literally Dream, so I don’t think he’s the leading expert in what good names are.

“I can talk about my relationships with the crew. God, I love the crew. Niki is our flight surgeon, and she tries to teach us all how to take care of ourselves, mostly because we’re all awful at it. That year on  _ Hermes _ on our way to Mars, I probably learned more about taking care of myself than in all the other years of my life, seriously. Niki’s one of the kindest people I know, you know, my only other fellow European. We became pretty good friends in training before the mission actually started.

“Puffy isn’t technically a doctor, but she’s one hell of a scientist. She’s a fighter, certainly, probably the most physically fit out of all of us, and she’s a living icon. One time, during training, we were out at a bar, and she ended up getting us kicked out. It totally wasn’t her fault that she slammed a guy’s head into a table, he was making moves on Niki. Anyways, I love Puffy, fucking incredible, definitely the mom friend of the team.

“Sapnap- God, Sapnap’s one of the best friends I’ve ever made. I love Sapnap and his stupid penchant for fire and his love of rocket fuel and everything else he does. Even though we act like we hate each other, we love each other, I promise. Any videos of us may say otherwise, and I’m never going to live this down after he hears it, but I love Sapnap more than words can describe.

“Techno is the most incredible Commander I’ve ever had. I’ve done a lot of things with NASA and worked under a lot of people, and Techno’s gotta be the best of the best. He’s serious, dedicated, and I couldn’t ask for a better person to work under. I know he’s going to be blaming himself for everything, so Techno, if you’re hearing this- it’s not your fault. I promise.

“As for Dream-”

He’s crying by now, and he cuts off with a choked sob. “As for Dream, well. I already came out on camera, so. I’ve known Dream for five years, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with him for four. And I know, deep down, that he loves me back, but- you know. We were on a mission together. We couldn’t do anything that would compromise that. But I love him, more than anything in the world, in a different way than I’ve loved anyone else. I really do.”

He takes a few deep breaths. “I think that’s enough for today. Um. If anyone is out there, if anyone is listening- this is George Davidson, Sol 66, signing off for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed, considering leaving a comment or kudos! it's free, and it means the world to me


	3. Asteria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot progresses! all my irls on spotify definitely saw me listening to 'pathfinder' from the martian soundtrack on repeat but it's fine
> 
> the ending part of this chapter (the pathfinder log) comes directly from the book, in case anyone was wondering

“What the muffin do you mean, you didn’t want to wake me up?!” Bad practically screeches. Wilbur sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s been a few weeks since the initial press conference, and Bad is still full of rage. As the  _ Hermes _ flight director and Ares III coordinator, he’s good friends with the entire crew. Normally he isn’t prone to anger, but right now, he’s furious.

“It was late at night,” Wilbur says, looking for an excuse. This is the first time the two of them have come face-to-face with how busy they’ve both been, so Wilbur’s now getting the full force of Bad’s anger. He’s just digging his own grave at this point, and he knows it. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“And you couldn’t have called me in the morning?” Bad demands. “Jesus, Wilbur! This is sort of wake-me-up news! Or at least tell me before you announce it to the whole world!”

“Well, you’re here now,” Phil offers. Bad casts him a sharp glare.

They’re in the conference room on the highest floor of the building, waiting for the director of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory to arrive. Tommy is sitting in one corner, fidgeting with his hands nervously. Fundy is standing by the window, talking rapidly on his phone. He sets it down when the Director of JPL strides in, briefcase in hand.

“I have a flight back to Pasadena in three hours,” Alex Quackity announces. “Let’s make this quick.” He takes a seat across from Phil and then glances toward Tommy. “Who’s that?”

“Tommy Innit,” Tommy says nervously. “I work in SatCon.”

“Why is he here?” Quackity demands, turning to Phil. Wilbur answers for him.

“He’s the one who figured out George was alive. I put him in charge of keeping track of him.”

“Huh. Alright.”

They talk science for a while, what the public knows and doesn’t know. At one point, Phil turns to Tommy with a grin and says, “Welcome to the big leagues.”

Wilbur feels a burst of pride. This team- they’re going to get George home.

“We need to tell the  _ Hermes _ crew,” Bad says eventually, running a hand through his hair.

“No,” Wilbur says immediately. “Not until we have a rescue plan.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bad cries. “They’re his crew! His best friends! They need to know, they can’t go on thinking he’s dead-”

“We can’t give them false hope, either,” Wilbur points out.

“I’m their coordinator, it’s my call to make,” Bad says sternly. “Not yours.”

“I’m sorry, Bad, but I’m with Wil on this one,” Phil interrupts. “We need to wait to inform them. They need to stay focused on getting themselves back to Earth.”

“Bull,” Bad snorts, crossing his arms, but he doesn’t argue further.

There’s more discussion on what JPL needs to do- Quackity tells them all that his employees won’t be thrilled with what’s being asked of them in such a short time frame.

“It’s that or leave George to die,” Wilbur points out, and that’s the end of that.

  
  
  


“Sol 68. I figured out a way to make the rover suitable for long-distance trips. It involves something even more dangerous than turning the Hab into a bomb. I’m going for the RTG. You know, the big box of plutonium that’s more dangerous than the shit they put in nuclear bombs. I figure it shouldn’t be that difficult, right?”

  
  


“Sol 69. Ha ha, funny number. Asteria 2 was today. I’m no stranger to Mars- I’ve been here for a while- but there’s something different about being on Mars and unable to see the Hab. It’s a completely alien landscape. It’s like-

“I was about to say it’s like being on a different planet, and then I remembered that it literally is. I am literally on a different planet. I am the only one on this entire planet. God, this is so fucking depressing.

“Anyways. I found the RTG right where we buried it, four kilometers away, only instead of avoiding it, I made a beeline for it. Probably not what Techno had in mind, but hey. He’s not here to stop me. I declare Asteria 2 to be a complete success. Tomorrow will be Asteria 3, which is just Asteria 1 but without freezing my ass off. I’m going to go vandalize the rover now.”

  
  


“Sol 70. Asteria 3 was also a success. I drove around a hundred kilometers and did a quick EVA out of the rover to change the batteries about halfway through. I wonder what NASA would think of me fucking with the RTG like this. They’d probably be scared. My power is unmatched. I’ve gotta be the stupidest person in the universe- or maybe the smartest.

“I’m going to start planning for Asteria 4- not sure what it’ll be yet, but I’ll figure something out. I wonder if they’ve figured out I’m alive yet.”

  
  


“Sol 71. I figured out what Asteria 4 is going to be, and it’s gotta be one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. And I’m starting now.

“I’m going to find  _ Pathfinder. _

“For those of you who don’t know,  _ Pathfinder _ was an old NASA project from ‘97, headed by the JPL. Shout out to the JPL! Hey, guys. Anyways- it fell silent a long time ago, but it’s close by. If I can get it up and working, I can try and find some way to communicate with NASA. Especially if the guys back home figure out what the hell I’m doing. So- here we go, team.  _ Pathfinder _ is pretty far away, so this trip is going to take a while, but I’m determined to make it a success.”

  
  
  
  


It’s nine pm, and Wilbur is starting his seventh cup of coffee of the day. He’s in the middle of composing three different emails to various Congressmen, trying to convince them to provide emergency funding. There’s been hardly any interdepartmental fighting, which is rare, and he makes sure to emphasize that point in the emails.

_ NASA as a whole has pulled together to make sure saving George Davidson is our first priority. However, everything we’re doing costs money. With the amount of public interest… _

His head falls downward, and he snaps it back up. He can’t fall asleep now, he needs to send out these emails and then write a few more, then prepare what he’s saying tomorrow on CNN’s George Davidson report, and then-

“Wilbur?”

He jerks up. Tommy is standing in the doorway, laptop in hand. He’s wearing the same sweatshirt and sweatpants that he’s been wearing since the conference room meeting a few days prior.

“Yeah,” he says, gesturing at the seat across from his desk. “Come in, what’s-”

“Sorry to bother you this late,” Tommy says, not taking a seat. “But he’s on the move.”

“He’s what?” Wilbur asks.

“George is on the move.”

“Any chance it’s like the other day’s trip around nowhere?”

“He’s been going in a straight line away from the Hab. Drove for several hours, did an EVA to change the battery, drove for several more.”

“Fuck,” Wilbur curses softly. “There’s no way he’s going for Ares IV now-”

“No,” Tommy agrees. “Ares IV is southeast. He’s going southwest.”

“Jesus,” Wilbur says, trying to wrack his brain for anything George might be doing. He still has no idea what the guy’s thought process could possibly be. “What’s he doing now? Like, right now?”

“Recharging, I think. Probably sleeping. He’s not moving at the moment.”

“Alright. Keep me updated, Tommy. Maybe he’ll turn around tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Tommy leaves him with his coffee and his computer.

Wilbur ends up sleeping in the office. He manages to straighten himself up for the drive to CNN to talk on the George Davidson Report, which has been airing daily. He’s been talking on it on a weekly basis, trying to keep things under control. He’s speeding and nearly gets pulled over on the way back to NASA, but the police cruiser gets distracted and Wilbur slows down a little bit.

He’s just made it back to the office when his phone rings, a scheduled call from Quackity about how they’re planning on communicating to George that they’ll be dropping in supplies. Once he’s certain they have a solid plan in place, Wilbur thanks Quackity and hangs up the phone, then turns to his inbox. There’s nearly a hundred emails, most of them marked as important, but there’s one on the top from Tommy with no subject that jumps out at him right away:

_ He’s on the move again. _

Wilbur makes his way down to SatCon, sending emails on his phone as he goes.

“Same line,” Tommy announces when Wilbur enters the room. He glances up from his phone to see his little brother staring at the monitors, tracking George’s location. “Still heading away from the Hab. He’s a hundred and seventy-six kilometers away.”

Wilbur stares at the screen for a moment, then narrows his eyes.

“No,” he says. “No way.”

“What?” Tommy asks nervously. Wilbur grabs his hand and tears out of the room at a jog. “Where are we going?”

“SatCon break room!” Wilbur cries, speeding up to a run. “You still have that big map of Mars hanging on the wall, right?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, looking confused. “Wilbur, what-”

“Here!” he cries, skidding into the room. He glances around for a straight-edge and ends up grabbing an empty doughnut box from on top of the trash bin. Snatching a sharpie from a jar, he marks George’s position and then draws a straight line.

“Oh my God,” Tommy says, covering his mouth with one hand. Wilbur grins.

“Yes!” he says. “He’s going for  _ Pathfinder _ ! Oh my God, this changes everything!”

“If he gets it up and running-” Tommy starts.

“We can communicate with him,” Wilbur says excitedly, pulling out his phone and dialing Quackity’s number quickly. “And of course he can fix it, he’s an engineer, that’s what he  _ does _ \- Quackity! We’re catching the next flight to JPL. George is going for  _ Pathfinder. _ I know, I know- yeah, we’ll see you soon!” He turns back to Tommy with an exhilarated grin. “Oh, that clever son of a bitch!”

  
  
  
  


“Sol 75. My fourth day on the road. I’ve established somewhat of a daily routine, and honestly, it’s boring as fuck. I don’t know how I survived the year-long journey to Mars- oh, wait, yes I do. It was because I had the crew with me.

“Maybe if I tell stories about the crew, it’ll pass the time better. I could burn my way through Techno’s collection of old DVDs- seriously, Tech, Leave It to Beaver? That shit’s  _ old _ , man- but honestly, I’m not that desperate yet.

“So- since after either my death or rescue, these records will eventually, hopefully, be found, I’m going to embarrass the shit out of my best friends. Let’s start with Techno, because I feel like the Commander needs to be brought down a notch.

“And hey, Commander, if you’re seeing this: I know I’ve been making fun of your shitty tastes for weeks now, but I’m just not gonna give you a break.

“So, everyone knows Phil Watson, esteemed director of NASA, but what they  _ don’t _ know is his penchant for adopting lost orphans. Case in point: Wilbur Soot, Director of Mars Missions. Tommy Innit, this barely-out-of-college kid that works in SatCon. And, of course, our dear Commander Technoblade. It’s kind of funny, honestly, seeing them all together, because even though none of them look even remotely like each other- Wilbur and Tommy could not be more opposite, but they’re both tall bastards, and Techno’s got his bright pink ass-length hair, and Phil is Phil- they look like a picture-perfect family. Or maybe not picture-perfect, they’re chaos incarnate.

“Anyways, the point is: the crew was having family dinner, where we all got our families together, which means Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy were all invited. Needless to say, Tommy and Techno started a full-on food fight that ended with this skinny-ass kid shoving Commander Technoblade’s head into a bowl full of mashed potatoes. Puffy has a picture, I think, and she’s been using it as blackmail ever since. We can’t get her to send it to any of us, though, which is a bit disappointing.

“There’s the embarrassing story for today. God, I miss Earth. I miss my crew. I miss my family, and NASA, and being able to walk outside without wearing a spacesuit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this depressing. Sol 75, George Davidson, signing off.”

  
  


“Sol 79. Eight days into Asteria 4. The rover is charging for the night, and I’m about to go to bed. God, am I exhausted from my routine of doing nothing. I half take-back what I said about Leave It to Beaver, it’s actually vaguely entertaining. I can see why Techno enjoys it, at least.

“I was thinking about Karl today. I don’t even know why. Karl is Sapnap’s husband- they got married approximately three weeks before we left in a spur-of-the-moment thing that only the crew and a few other select people were invited to.

“When I say spur-of-the-moment, I mean we were out at a bar, piss-drunk- Techno was our designated driver, so he was sober, per the usual- and Sapnap decided he didn’t want to wait until after the wedding to call Karl his husband. And Sap was too drunk to find his phone, so we called Karl off Dream’s, convinced him to come to the nearest church, and they were married. Just like that.”

George can see his reflection in the camera, and he can see the fond smile on his face. He misses his best friends, both on Earth and on the  _ Hermes. _ He misses a lot of things. Nothing he can do to change that now, though- just find  _ Pathfinder _ and hopefully get in contact with some of them.

He wonders if they’ve realized where he’s going by now. Hopefully they have. Wilbur’s smart, he should figure it out pretty quickly.

“I’m going to sleep for the night, I think. Talk to you on Sol 80.”

  
  


“Sol 81. I’m twenty-two kilometers away from  _ Pathfinder! _ One more day, and then I’m there.”

He takes a deep breath. He’s farther away from the Hab than he’s ever been, and the nerves have been starting to get to him for the past few days. If he can’t find  _ Pathfinder, _ then this whole mission has been for nothing.

No, not for nothing, he reminds himself. Now he knows that he can make long-distance trips in the rover. He can make it to Ares IV. He’ll be ready when the time comes.

  
  


“Sol 82. Absolute victory! I’ve got both the lander and the Sojourner rover in my possession, making me the first person to ever recover a probe on Mars. God, I’m so cool- my Wikipedia page is going to be stuffed full of firsts. I was the seventeenth person to walk on Mars, and then the first person to be on a planet alone. The first person to colonize Mars. The first person to create water on Mars. The first, first, first. God, I love this.

“That’s a complete lie. I’d much rather be on  _ Hermes _ with the crew. But again, I don’t blame any of them.

“I digress. I’ve got the lander and the Sojourner, both recovered. The Sojourner is small enough to fit inside the rover. The lander is not. I don’t even need the whole thing, just the probe, which I successfully got off the rest of the console. Now it’s the matter of getting it up onto the roof of the rover, two meters off the ground.

  
“This shit’s gonna kill my back. Therefore, I’m putting it off until tomorrow.”

  
  


“Sol 83. I got the probe on the roof of the rover, easy peasy. It was not. It was not easy peasy. But I did it, and I’m going to be so fucking sore tomorrow, but it was worth it.

“I had to construct a ramp out of rocks to get it the two meters up, which meant a lot of testing to find the right angle for a ramp and meant a lot of rocks. Luckily, if there’s one thing that Mars has an abundance of, it’s rocks.

“And I was successful! Which is pretty cool. A lot of physical labor, so I’m tired, but luckily I’m going to spend the next eleven days sitting in a rover and only leaving to do EVA walks to change the battery. But that means I’m going to be heading back to the Hab soon, which means one day closer to walking around without a spacesuit on. Watch out, Mars, George Davidson is on the move!”

  
“Sol 85. I am so fucking sick of space food. What I wouldn’t give for a hot meal.

“I’m also really sick of shitting in a bag. Because of course I need my shit for manure, since I’m the only source of shit on the planet, currently, which, hey. Another first. First person to be the only source of shit on a planet.

“God, I hate my job.”

  
  


“Sol 90. I decided to start collecting rocks. The geologists will love me. I’m just out here doing cool astronaut things, being a cool astronaut and shit. Look at me go. God, I love my job.

“I should be back at the Hab soon. Hopefully. It took me around ten days to get to  _ Pathfinder _ , and it’s been seven since I started the return journey. I’m almost through Leave it to Beaver. I’m disappointed, almost, but I guess I’ll have plenty of time to rewatch it.”

  
  


“Sol 93. I got the Hab signal today! Less than twenty-five kilometers away, which means I’ll be back by tomorrow. Then I can get started on fixing the giant broken radio I’ve been dragging around with me.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what my first words to NASA are going to be. Probably something along the lines of ‘are you receiving this.’ But like. After that. Probably something for my parents. Something for the crew. Something for my cat. And a general fuck-you to the public, just because I can.

“Seriously, though. I want them to know how grateful I am. And how I’m going to be wanting a lot of things at NASA named after me. I better be getting some good fucking pension after this.”

  
  


“Sol 94. Home sweet fucking home! I nearly cried when the Hab came into view, like one of those white people clapping when the plane lands. I wasn’t going to cheer, but then I remembered that I’m the only one on this planet, so there’s no one to judge me.

“Except for whoever’s watching this. Hello. I’m one of those stupid white people that claps when planes land and cheers when my rover makes it back to my Mars survival habitat. Please be kind in your judgement and remember I’m under a lot of stress.

“Asteria 4 was a complete success, but I needed to get rid of the RTG. Because if that blew up, it would kill me to death. So I drove it the recommended four kilometers and buried that shit back where Techno originally put it. I’ll go back for it when I need to get to Ares IV, but that still won’t be for a while.

  
“Anyways. That was Asteria 5. I wonder what Dream will think of the name- I did do it for him, after all. I think the Asteria missions are done, but maybe the next time I need to do a series of missions, I’ll call it Selene. For the moon. I think Niki would like it. Or maybe Helios, for the sun, Sapnap would love that shit.

“I dunno. I’ll be here for a while. I’ll probably get to use both.”

George takes a deep breath- God, does the air of the Hab taste wonderful- and stretches. He frowns when his shirt rides up, exposing the long scar on his torso, and tugs it back down. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Tomorrow I’ll get to work on fixing the lander and getting Sojourner up and running properly. Hopefully, I’m counting down the days in single-digits until I’m able to communicate with someone for the first time in God knows how long. For now, George Davidson, signing off, Sol 94.”

  
  
  
  
  


“He’s back!” Tommy cries, bursting into Wilbur’s office. He freezes, realizing Bad, Phil, and Fundy are all standing inside. Quackity’s face is on Wilbur’s computer screen, frowning slightly at Tommy’s outburst.

“Did you not get my email?” Wilbur asks. Tommy shakes his head.

“I’ve been checking the satellites non-stop,” he says defensively. “Like you told me to. He’s back, he’s in the Hab.”

“Good,” Phil says. “Hopefully he’ll start working on  _ Pathfinder _ tomorrow.”

“The second we have communication, I’m telling the crew, I don’t care,” Bad growls, looking immensely frustrated.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Wilbur says softly. “Now, sit down. We’re talking developments.”

“Developments?” Tommy asks.

“We’ve got people ready to receive the  _ Pathfinder _ signal, but we don’t know how long it will take for him to fix the machine,” Quackity says. “I’ll be back in Houston by tomorrow, now that he’s back at the Hab. I’m assuming there weren’t complications?”

“I can’t see the Sojourner, I’m assuming it’s inside, but the lander is outside the Hab,” Tommy confirms. “Or at least, the bits of it that he recovered. There was no way he was tugging the whole  _ Pathfinder _ back to the Hab.”

“Right, we expected as much,” Quackity confirms. “Be ready, guys, the press is going to go crazy.”

“I know,” Fundy mutters. “Believe me, I know. Speaking of- Quackity, how would you feel about appearing on CNN?”

“No,” Quackity says cheerfully. “Good luck with that!”

“Wil, how’d the Congressmen take those emails?” Phil asks. He sounds exhausted. Tommy doesn’t blame him. The guy hasn’t slept at home in nearly a week, and neither has Wilbur.

To be fair, Tommy hasn’t, either. He’s just been taking naps in his SatCon room, constantly monitoring the satellites for images of George and whatever shit he’s getting up to.

“Loved ‘em,” Wilbur replies. “We’ve got the funding, they’re working on passing it now. Everyone wants to unite to get George home.”

“Excellent,” Phil says. “Quackity?”

“Iris space probe is coming along nicely,” Quackity responds. “We should be able to deliver plenty of food, easily enough for him to survive until Ares IV, with room for extra so the guy can become, I dunno, less malnourished.”

“Great,” Phil says. “Alright. Meeting- meeting adjourned. Everyone get ready. I want us up and moving the second  _ Pathfinder’s _ signal comes in.”

  
  
  
  


“Sol 95. The lander should be fixed. All I need to do now is wait for it to get up and running.”

  
  


“Sol 96. Lander still isn’t working. Sojourner still isn’t working. All I can do is hope.”

  
  
  
  


**_Pathfinder LOG: SOL 0_ **

_ Boost sequence initiated _

_ Time 00:00:00 _

_ Loss of power detected, time/date unreliable _

_ Loading OS… _

_ VXWare Operating System (C) Wind River Systems performing hardware check: _

_ Int. Temperature: -34 C _

_ Ext. Temperature: Nonfunctional _

_ Battery: Full _

_ Higain: OK _

_ Logain: OK _

_ Wind Sensor: Nonfunctional _

_ Meteorology: Nonfunctional _

_ ASI: Nonfunctional _

_ Imager: OK _

_ Rover Ramp: Nonfunctional _

_ Solar A: Nonfunctional _

_ Solar B: Nonfunctional _

_ Solar C: Nonfunctional _

_ Hardware check complete _

_ Broadcasting Status _

_ Listening for telemetry signal… _

_ Listening for telemetry signal… _

_ Listening for telemetry signal… _

_ Signal acquired... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos/subs/etc are always, always appreciated!!! 
> 
> find me on [ twitter](https://www.twitter.com/andthentheybow)!

**Author's Note:**

> [ twitter](https://www.twitter.com/andthentheybow)
> 
> comments/kudos/etc are always appreciated!!! :)


End file.
